Maestoso
by AmandaRose
Summary: Marching band can help a person discover who they are. Written on the best marching band memory every--the 2001 Presidential Inaugural Parade.


**Maestoso******

**by**** Amanda Rose**

Attacking at all levels, the weather pulled out all the stops. The temperature danced around a point so viciously cold it almost made my cheeks burn. Racing its way through the city, the wind agilely found a path through the tiniest cracks between buildings. The gray sky, filled with low lying clouds, seemed to descend upon us. My mood slightly dampened by the weather, I began to feel uncomfortable. As a slight rain began to fall into my eyes, I turned my attentions back to the ground and pulled my slowly numbing hands deep inside my gloves. My finger tips, white with cold, peeked mischievously out of the holes cut in my gloves. Although the tip openings allowed touching the keys, they also relinquished any warmth that the gloves might have offered. 

The marching band stood huddled together in small clumps in a side street of The Mall. On both sides of us towered the Smithsonian museums. Closed for the day, the museums looked dark like the sky, but on Inauguration Day, who would want to tour them anyway? The entire tourist population of Washington, D.C., and its surrounding area, probably all congregated into the small government portion of Pennsylvania Avenue. 

I trembled, my long underwear failing at its assigned task of keeping me warm. With a start, I felt my grip on my clarinet loosen and watched it wobble on its neck strap too precariously for comfort. Placing two hands firmly on it, I put the frigid mouthpiece to my lips and blew a few notes, just to "Keep the chops warm," as Mr. Hanke always urged us to do.   
"Play a few notes while we're waiting to go on."   
Then something hit me. I began to feel scared. What if we messed up? What if I trip and fall during the middle of the parade? What if my corners look sloppy and I'm the only one in the band that is out of step? All my work put into this parade seemed to wash away with the heartless rain, tauntingly falling at a steady pace. The rain flooded my thoughts with visions of failure.  
"Band!" Mr. Hanke called. "Let's get together now! Places!" 

My ears perked up and I headed over to my spot, the outside right of the third row. In order to rid myself of any chance that my interval didn't look absolutely correct, I took four steps back from the trombonist standing in front of me. "Four twenty-two and half in steps, band!" I could almost hear Mr. Hanke in my head yelling at us.   
Summer marching band camp, when he relentlessly insisted that we remain constantly conscious about our intervals, now seemed like years ago. His words always flowed through my thoughts, reminding me of the many things that I needed to remember. "Do it right the first time," I could remember him saying.   
"Twenty-two and half inches! Has anyone ever told you any different? No! So, don't you ever let me see you with anything less of an interval!" 

Without a drum click, we headed quickly to the staging area. Rounding the corner, "We were on," as Mr. Hanke often said.   
All the money we had raised culminated in this two mile parade. I felt scared. I don't mean frightened. I mean really, genuinely scared. Looking back, I wonder a little why I felt that way. As the lead clarinet, I knew what the situation called for. Even with all these things taken into consideration, I felt a huge lump form in my throat. As the lump grew, it fell with a sickening plop into my stomach. I can't do this, I thought to myself. I'm not good enough for this. 

_Roll off. Horns up._ Such once foreign actions now felt automatic to me. All of my fears just before bombarding me didn't have the strength to stop me from doing what I knew how to do. Without even thinking about it, all of a sudden my lips took a firm grasp on my clarinet and "Patriots on Parade," sang out the bell. Snapping back into the realization of my surroundings and my responsibilities, I looked around. People stood everywhere. Despite the dismal weather, screaming crowds packed into the streets. Most of them probably didn't have a clue who we were, but cheered for us anyway. 

This is wonderful, I thought to myself. A picture popped into my head. I could see Mr. Hanke talking to us about the challenges that faced us. "This is the big leagues, guys. You're up against more than you've ever been up against in your lives. We're not going to be in little S------ anymore. This is national television. What kind of image do you want to portray? Attitude is everything, kids. What kind of attitude are you going to show the world that S------ has?"  
  


Remembering these words, the lump in my stomach began to dissolve, and I felt myself relaxing. My breathing calmed and my playing returned, coming at ease, like it always did in the past. 

_Horns down.__ Cadence._ Not moving my head, I looked around. The rain fell heavier than before. Although it dripped down the brim of my hat and onto my cheeks, it didn't feel cold anymore. The inner excitement that filled my soul, warmed my mind and my body, as well. I couldn't really see, but I didn't need to. Four steps. Twenty-two and a half inches. Focus on that, I told myself. Don't worry about anything more. 

Then, before I could completely grasp the situation we arrived at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. In front of us stood the White House, home of the President of the United States. "And now, all the way from S------, Wisconsin, the S------ High School Marching Band!" the announcer blared. 

_Roll off. Horns up._ "On Wisconsin, On Wisconsin," the tune resonated in my mind.   
I saw to my right a small sign with all capital letters. "EYES LEFT," it said.   
Straining, so not to look as though I was moving my head, I looked over. That's the President, I thought to myself. In his royal blue tie and dark black over coat, I watched as the President of the United States waved with a smile to the SHS Marching Band. All the work culminated right before my eyes. As we honored the most powerful man in the world, a sense of joy overcame us. Representing our state, our town, and ourselves, pride ran deep in the hearts of the marching band. I, as the music passionately resounded out of my instrument, felt this deep rush of emotion wind a path through my body and soul. 

_Horns down.__ Cadence._ I felt another lump grow inside of my throat. This time, though, it did not consist of painful fear. Falling to my stomach, the sweet, honey-thick lump warmed my insides with contentment. The pride settled in my stomach and made my whole being absolutely giddy with satisfaction. And before I could fathom what happened, the final note resonated with a sense of completion. We marched past the reviewing stand and the announcer began to blare, "From the University of Tennessee..."   
Completely in awe, the rain spilling down my face, I took a deep breath. In music, we have a word used to describe playing something strongly and majestically… **Maestoso, I suppose, would be the correct musical term, I mused to myself. Amazing. **

_Horns down.__ Drum click. "Mark time, mark. Ready, halt-1-2."_


End file.
